


I Remember You

by Wolfepup



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/mild comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfepup/pseuds/Wolfepup
Summary: Morgana recognizes Douxie from behind Claire's eyes. She couldn't risk him getting in her way. How could she stop him--without killing the one wizard on Earth she didn't despise?
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	I Remember You

**Author's Note:**

> I would be lost without Wikipedia and its episode synopsis! From what I saw, Claire was possessed in Episode 43, followed by Merlin being woke up 3 episodes later. The Arikidions arrive during episode 48. This all culminates in Merlin losing his magic and the Battle of the Bands (which the Arikidions attended) in episodes 51-52. I extended the timeline a bit—the order of events is the same, I think, but the period of time between them is longer.
> 
> The scene in the cafe always bothered me a bit. Morgana knows Douxie. I had written another story along these lines 'While You Were Out", but this one accounts for Douxie being present in other episodes. Dude was in Arcadia keeping tabs on everything that Merlin wasn't paying attention to, like HexTech and the Arikidions.

She knew him. This waiter, this tall, thin peon with a stained apron and dark hair tipped in blue. She knew him. His faint magic, restrained and controlled. She knew that magic. The memory was old.

“Claire, you ok?” The Trollhunter looked over to her. Ah yes…Claire. The girl’s spirit was strong, but Morgana’s was stronger.

She hoped the grin on her face was vapid rather than feral. Claire still fought, and the limbs of her body trembled. “Oh, just girl problems, I will be fine.”

The boys at the table cringed and moved away a bit. The other girl, some throw-away peasant, placed her purse in her lap. “Do…do you need anything?”

Did she need…? Oh…right. That. “No, but thank you.”

The waiter returned with their drinks. He placed them down on their table with a smile. “Your entrées will be out shortly.”

He flipped his serving try under one arm, and Morgana narrowed her borrowed eyes. She knew him. She knew that confident swagger, the careless way he stood. The Trollhunter cleared his throat. “So, uh, Claire, how is school going?”

She took a sip of her soda. Uhg, too sweet, and the bubbles tickled her nose. “Fine.” She hadn’t walked on the surface since Merlin confined her to the Heartstone, so much was new to her. Something about Merlin...not the wizard himself but…Ah. That thin, gangly apprentice of his. He had introduced himself as “Douxie”…which was not too far off from “Hisirdoux”. And, if she recalled correctly, that Familiar of his called him that as well. Morgana looked around, the little dragon was nowhere near, or if he was, he was in a form she did not know. This “Douxie” was far enough away where she could chance opening up her magic a bit. The Trollhunter glowed like a blinding beacon next to her. It took a second, but she closed her magical eye to him. A faint trail of blue magic wandered from table to table. It _was_ the same scrawny street rat Merlin had taken under his wing.

It made sense that Merlin would task the impressionable boy to watch over the Heartstone. He was always so easy to manipulate. She frowned inwardly, but he had a good heart. Not once had she seen him raise his magic or fists in anger; the boy could barely protect himself with his unpredictable magic. Morgana smiled softly, being careful to not let it show too much on her borrowed face. She always had a soft spot for the boy.

But she couldn’t risk it. She was still too weak, from both her imprisonment and her current battle with the unsufferable Claire. There was no way she could verify if Merlin was nearby or not, and she couldn’t risk his apprentice running to him the first chance he got, if he got a wiff of her magic. Morgana formed a plan, one that would not only get the boy out of her way, but weaken him greatly to _keep_ him out of her way. At least, long enough to let her plan come to fruition. She vowed he would live—he was a creature of magic and she had no quarrel with him at the moment—but she had her own agenda.

The lunch passed by awkwardly and far too slowly. The children at the table prattled on about banal subjects. Not once was she able to forget how coddled the children of this place were. But she also couldn’t hide the jealousy of just being able to _be_ a child. Morgana squashed that feeling before she could feel sympathy for them. When the waiter, one confirmed Hisirdoux Casperan, came with their check, she made sure to place a small tracking spell on it, one she hoped was too small to be noticed, on the ticket to be passed to the next person who touched it.

Hisirdoux glanced down at his hand when he took the ticket, and his brows furrowed minutely. He must have learned something in his time on the surface, then. However, another table called him over and he left them with a smile and a “Enjoy the rest of your day!”

**

Douxie set his keys down on the counter, and rubbed the back of his neck. The café had been busy, but nothing out of the ordinary. However, the interaction with Claire bothered him. He barely knew her, but she…he couldn’t put his finger on it. Something was wrong, off. He had taken to watching the Trollhunter and his friends, and couldn’t remember her acting so…bloodthirsty. Archie wove around his legs as he headed towards the basement.

“Rough day?”

Douxie hummed. “You could say that. I had the oddest customer today.” He picked up a list of items that needed to be brought up from the basement. Today, the store was closed, but that did not mean he was free from his duties. One had to keep up appearances.

Archie paused at the top of the stairs, a narrow dark staircase that Douxie never did like. He made a mental note for the hundredth time to replace the bulb with a brighter one. “And that is different from a normal day, how?”

“Ha ha,” Douxie flipped on the brighter light at the base of the stairs. The basement was full of shelves and boxes of books new and old. He pulled an empty box aside and started to fill it with items on his list. “It was Claire, a friend of the new Trollhunter.”

Archi hummed, and sat down on a nearby box. “What about her? From what I have seen, she is a charming girl. He rmother,” Archie shuddered, “Formidable woman.”

Douxie laughed. “Indeed.” He sobered quickly, pausing to read the title of a book before putting it in his box. “But she seemed, off somehow. Almost feral.” He shrugged one shoulder.

Archie opened his mouth to speak, but stopped, and twitched an ear. He stood up, alert. Douxie set his list down, holding his hands in front of him. His bracer glowed a faint blue.

“Hisirdoux Casperan, nice to see you well.” Claire emerged from behind a shelf. Douxie lowered his hands.

Wait…he never told her his full name. He could feel his heart race as the adrenaline pulsed suddenly.

Archie arched his back, his fur rising, tail increasing in volume. “That is not Claire…”

She smiled at the dragon, a feral, hungry grin. She raised one hand, golden light playing between her fingers. Douxie only knew one wizard whose magic was golden.

“Morgana?”

“You ever were the astute one, boy.” She stepped forward. Douxie couldn’t help but to take a step back. He had grown in magic, but he was still an apprentice, and one who had not been formally trained for a couple of centuries. She was a Master.

“What do you want?” He couldn’t stop the waver in his voice. Great way to sound confident, Casperan. He backed up against the wall, his default shield spell at the ready.

It all happened in less than a second. Archie bounded, flashing into his dragon form in a shower of golden dust. Morgana flung out one hand, and Archie fell, wrapped in a stasis cocoon. Douxie’s hand glowed brilliant blue, but his eyes were on his familiar. “Archie!” His shield spell released, and a blue glow started to come from his left hand, focused by the pointing fingers on his right.

Morgana’s other hand lashed out, and Douxie could feel his limbs stop as the world around him slowed, his magic fighting to escape. It bounced around the rapidly forming cocoon, he could feel it static in his limbs as it sought release. Her smile was gone, replaced with a grim determination. “I will _not_ have you blundering into my plans, boy!” She lowered her hand, “But killing you,” she shook her head. “You were never cruel to me.” She walked up to his cocoon, Douxie could barely make out the outline of her hand and she passed it over him. “You deserve to live in the world I will create.”

**

The shop was not quite as he had ordered it. A ragged old couch in a comfortable corner covered with an old throw blanket was a cozy touch, he could easily envision his apprentice curled up under that blanket, a cup of tea near at hand, a book on his lap, and Archie curled at his side. The wood of the shelves were a dark, warm—and worn—wood. But the books on them were organized, though not quite of the genres he approved of.

Romance? Really? Merlin sighed. Even he had to recognize the need to bow to paying the bills.

The I-Pad that served as a register was a stark contrast with its sleek white lines against a background of books new and old. There were spots of dust, baskets of bookmarks and crystals, charlatan goods that drew in a crowd to help make sales. While not to his exact specifications, it made enough money to pay the rent. A broom, its bristles well worn, rested in one corner. His apprentice was learning.

Merlin glanced at the counter. There was a set of keys next to the computer, which was still on. Odd. He might not know much about these modern contrivances, but on one of his dream-visits he had grilled Douxie on his security procedures of the store, which acted as a secret door to a magic workshop. Securing the keys and turning off the computer where two of those tasks. Douxie may be accident prone, but he was always careful with his workshop.

A quick stop at the restroom to drink some water—he still had the dust of his long sleep in his throat. Merlin had sent the Trollhunter and his friends home for the night, though he doubted any of them would sleep. All of them, especially the rotund boy of astounding strength and loyalty, were full of questions, and Merlin needed rest. And another drink of water. He still had to rid his throat of at least two centuries of dust. He coughed once into his hand.

He looked around the shop. It was quiet, only the soft hum of a far-off fan. No Archie demanding to be fed, no Hisirdoux asking him questions or pulling forth the latest bit of updates, as was his habit the last few times Merlin had contacted him. The door to the basement was open, a weak light shined. Hisirdoux still hadn’t replaced that confounded light!

Merlin stood at the top of the stairs, fully expecting the sounds of someone moving around. Last he checked, all that was down there was storage for the store and a few random things.

“Hisirdoux? Archie?”

Silence.

He closed his eyes, and reached out with his senses. Hisirdoux’s aura was below him, in the basement, but faint, as was Archie’s…but there was a third. An old aura that he never expected to meet again. Morgana had been here.

In three steps he was down the stairs, creaky knees be damned. Archie was in full flight, dragon wings unfurled, claws at the ready, encased in a faintly glowing gold stasis cocoon. Merlin knew Archie couldn’t have been this way for too long. There was no dust o the cocoon. Merlin passed his hand over the cocoon, and it dissolved into a million tiny fragments before wafting away as golden dust. It was weak, its construction hasty. A stasis cocoon like this one would have crumbled to dust on its own in a few days.

Archie stood on all fours, wings half spread, and shook his head to get his bearings. Coming out of a stasis cocoon was always disorientating. His head snapped up suddenly. “Douxie!” He launched off the box, and shakily flew deeper into the basement.

Merlin started after him, knowing nothing he would say would stop the little dragon from finding his bondmate.

“Douxie!” Merlin darted forward at the panic in Archie’s voice. Rarely did the dragon ever panic.

He rounded the corner, and stopped in his tracks. “Oh no,” Merlin breathed.

Hisirdoux stood, arms held in front of him, hints of his signature blue magic embedded in the golden stasis cocoon. His eyes were open, staring at the last place Morgana stood. Merlin placed a gentle hand on the cocoon. While the Familiar’s cocoon was a standard stasis cocoon, this one was different. Much stronger, and deliberate. This one was carefully planned.

“Well, wake him!” Archie paced in front of Hisirdoux.

“Give me a moment,” Merlin growled. He couldn’t simply break this cocoon, not without examining it. He couldn’t risk undue harm to Hisirdoux.

Merlin reached his senses into the cocoon. The cocoon glowed in response. He stood back, inspecting her work. He knew these runes twisting inside the cocoon. These horrid, horrid runes.

Twisted, tangled runes of Morgana’s magic, glowing sickly gold, wove through the otherworldly substance of the cocoon. They were a combination of magic inhibitors and redirectors. They pulled on the faint blue haze of his apprentice’s half-released magic. The longer Hisirdoux was in the cocoon, the weaker he would become. These runes would not kill him, but were used to restrain and keep wizards docile. Merlin and Morgana had fashioned these runes under the direction of Author. Merlin was sickened that she had used them on his apprentice.

He sighed, and rested on hand on the cocoon. The runes were designed to siphon a wizard’s power and direct it somewhere else, but these…these had no such outlets. They might have had an outlet at one time, but the cocoon held the runes, and the magic they gathered, fast. To release it too quickly could result in very painful magical feedback. Merlin winced at the headache Hisirdoux was destined to have.

“Well?” Archie stared up at Merlin.

The old wizard shook his head. “This will take some time to unravel.” He reached out again, untwisting s few of the more shallowly placed runes. Flashes of gold and blue magic briefly flared each time a rune was unraveled. Small cracks began to form, and soon, small chunks of it fell to the floor.

Merlin had to work faster. He had to undo the runes before the cocoon shattered. He worked quickly and carefully, else whatever spell Hisirdoux was caught in the middle of casting would misfire.

Archie stayed silent but his stare was unwavering. Merlin raised a shield of flickering green around Hisirdoux’s cocoon. “Brace yourself,” he undid the last rune, and the cracking cocoon splintered, the shards striking the shield with flashes of green and gold before dissolving into dust. Then waves of blue, stuttering and erratic, splattered against the shield.

Merlin lowered it as soon as he dared; bits of blue light still flickered. He waved a hand, forcing the magical dust to fall to the floor before it disappeared on its own. He had to see if Hisirdoux was okay, and he had no patience.

Archie beat him to Hisirdoux’s side. His apprentice lay still on the ground, bits of blue light flickering around him. Archie nudged his head. “Oh…thank the stars, he’s breathing.”

Merlin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He knelt by Hisirdoux’s side, rolling him over. He placed a gentle hand on his forehead. The magic was unstable inside of him, roiling in the aftereffects of feedback. This was going to be an epic headache when he wakes up. Merlin gathered him in his arms.

“I need the details of his time here, we can’t have people disturbing him.” He looked down at Archie.

“How bad is he?”

Merlin shook his head. “He will live, but I was unable to stop the magical feedback.” He turned to the stairs. “I will settle him in his bed and prepare his room. You will provide me with his schedule and contacts.” Archie nodded once, and headed up the stairs, with a reluctant look over his shoulder.

**

Everything ached. Douxie could feel his heart beating, a wave of ache that passed from his chest to his fingers and toes. He could swear that each hair on his head ached. Breathing hurt. He felt like he was sitting in fields of static. He couldn’t stop the soft groan, the vibrations rasping against his sore neck and the sounds echoing in his ears.

“Douxie!” He knew Archie wasn’t shouting. Douxie had heard the dragon shout before…this was far louder, bouncing around in his skull and enhancing what was already an epic headache. “Sorry, sorry,” his voice was lowered to a roaring whisper. Thundering footsteps receded as Archie left the room.

A brief flash a light, spearing into him from his closed eyes. A soft wave of green, and the pain eased. Usually, Douxie could feel his own magic rising in automatic defense to someone else’s…but something was missing. He furrowed his brows. His magic was there, faint, aching, hiding in the recesses of his soul like a wounded animal. Staticky.

Wait…green magic? Was Merlin awake?

“M…mer..”

“No need to talk,” his Master’s course whisper was soft, barely audible but still too loud. “You can tell me what happened later.” More cool, soothing green magic. “Morgana trapped you in stasis with magic inhibiting runes while you where casting a spell. When I freed you,” more cool magic, with soft tones of regret, “I couldn’t stop the magic feedback. I am sorry, Hisirdoux, you are going to be very sore for a few days, and sensitive to magic for longer.”

Ah, some small part of Douxie had wondered what magical feedback felt like. Horrible. Absolutely horrible. From what he read, he won’t even be able to _look_ at magic for a while. His heart sped up a bit, but with Morgana in town, he couldn’t protect…right. He relaxed as more of Merlin’s magic passed though him. Merlin was here. Odds are, if he wasn’t working with the Trollhunter and his friends, he will be soon. He would have to trust in his Master while he was incapacitated.

“Archie provided me with your schedule, and I have made arrangements for you not to be at work or school for the next couple of weeks.” Good thing Douxie had some savings, minimum wage jobs didn’t exactly have paid sick time. He grunted softly. Douxie was grateful, he could rest without having to worry. Thank the stars above he had Archie to look after him…and Merlin’s opposable thumbs.

“Ahem.” Archie cleared his throat.

“But, you will still be able to attend this ‘Battle of the Bands’ business.” Douxie could hear the deep sigh and weary resignation in his Master’s voice.

Oh right, the Battle was coming up in…how long was he out? What day was it? He turned his head, and cracked one eye open. The lids were heavy, and felt sticky with eye goo. Ick. Odds are, one of the first tasks he had to tend to was a proper, soaking shower. Or a bath, and at least long enough to do a passable impression of a prune.

“What day is it?” Oh good. His voice was working, with Merlin’s help it was not too painful. Douxie could feel his own magic settling a bit, but it was still staticky and restless.

“You have time,” Archie hopped up on the bed. He looked over at Merlin, who had the grace to roll his eyes.

“The Battle should keep you occupied while your magic recovers.” Merlin rubbed his eyes. The world was slowly coming into focus, but the room was dim. Douxie couldn’t tell how tired his Master was by his appearance; but his intuition told him Merlin had to be exhausted. He did just wake up from a nap a couple of centuries long, after all. Was that a cobweb hanging from one eyebrow? Hard to tell.

Merlin placed a hand on Douxie’s head, “Rest, while I attend to other matters.” He stood, a few joints cracking.

**

A week passed before Douxie felt comfortable enough to cast a spell. Merlin had been in and out of the workshop, tending to some business with the new Trollhunter that he said Douxie “was in no condition” to deal with. Sure. Douxie figured it out months ago—Jim was the new Trollhunter, Claire was a shadow wizard, Krel and Aja where aliens, though he had no idea what they looked like under their human disguises. He was already in contact with Zoe, in case HexTech was contacted. He had even managed to have a quiet lunch with the fiery hedge witch on the roof of the store.

Currently, he sat where they had had their lunch, back against an old air conditioner housing that had not worked in years, but served as a decent windbreak. It was in full sun all day, so the metal was warm on his back. The sunset had set the clouds on fire. He pulled his hoodie closer as the world cooled.

Douxie was to keep a low profile and report back to Merlin on what he learned. Which was near minimal as he was still “recovering from surgery” or whatever excuse Merlin had come up with that ultimately forced him to stay hidden in the bookstore. Secretly, Douxie suspected it was to keep him from being a target that could be used against the old Wizard.

He snorted. Merlin seemed to only regard Douxie’s life in terms of how it was convenient for him. _Here are the plans for my tomb, build it. Here is the magical key for the workshop,_ order after order to ensure that Merlin’s life was easy when he was awake.

Nothing for Douxie. No secret stash of cash to help pay bills, no spellbook with new spells. Very little guidance. _Nothing_ for _just_ Douxie.

He pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his head on his knees. The roof was cold, but a quietly whispered spell, one of the few he learned _just_ for himself, from an old Inuit Medicine Man four hundred years ago. It warmed him, wrapping him in a soft cocoon that blocked the wind and held his body heat close. It was better than the warmest coat.

And it was a small, delicate spell. Only the barest chime of magic, and his own, wounded magic was able to handle the spell with only the slightest twinge. He had to learn this spell, and other small magics, on his own. Joke was on Merlin, though. Douxie never had an issue asking for help, or charming his way into pretty much anything. He might not have a knowledge as deep as Merlin’s—but he far exceeded his Master’s breadth. At least, he would like to think so. Centuries of hiding and failing had ground his hubris to almost nothing.

He had grown careful in his old age. Did he make mistakes? Oh yes. Did he allow himself to celebrate his little victories? Definitely.

Did Archie think he needed to study more? Sadly, yes. And he agreed with the little dragon. But sometimes, it was just so hard to focus. He scowled. Only recently, _recently!_ Had he found out something…bothering. Almost a millennia had gone by. A century short of one thousand years, and he just _now_ , in Arcadia Oaks, did he have an astute teacher ask if he was dyslexic. After some research…no wonder reading was difficult. It was a minor expression of the condition, he would lose track of which word went where but at least the letters behaved. What a pain. But, he now had a word. And with that word came power. The power of knowledge, and the power to know what he needed to do. After some adaptive aids, reading was starting to come easier to him.

He still hadn’t finished the book on Monsterology though. It was a painful slog of old English and bad grammar. The modern books were simpler, the words more straightforward. Zoe was working on a translation machine; they couldn’t afford misidentifying the monsters they hunted in the night. Their experience only got them so far, and the magic of the Heartstone always attracted new beings.

Douxie waved a hand in front of his face, twirling faint strings of blue light between his fingers. His magic twinged, but this small spell, used to light small things without bringing too much notice to his power, functioned. The strings danced, changing into abstract designs and patterns. Some matched his tattoos, some looked like dragons. He set the magic in a small pattern and set it at his feet. It swirled of its own accord. He could feel the pull on his magic, but like a stiff muscle, the light exercise helped ease the ache.

Soft footsteps; a gentle whisp of emerald magic. Merlin was home. If Merlin wanted to find him…Douxie shrugged, waving his fingers absently at the twirling knot of magic. At least now, Douxie had an excuse not to wait on his Master hand and foot—the old man saw him as an invalid, useless.

Merlin would have forbade him from wiping his own ass if it so suited him. Douxie snorted, but found no humor in it.

The roof hatch opened. There was an old ladder from the second story storeroom. Douxie hadn’t bothered to shut the door on his way up, why would he? At the time, he was the only one home. Merlin had even conscripted his Familiar on some task or another. The workshop was quiet without Archie.

The bits of leaves and debris on the roof crackled as Merlin stepped closer. Douxie rested with his head on his knees, looking out over the city. More like, a couple of buildings and rows of streetlights. There was enough light pollution to hide the emerging stars. Blinking lights of an airplane darted between high clouds, barely lit by the city and the last remnants of the sunset.

“Where did you learn how to do that, Hisirdoux?”

He grunted. “This?” and waved his fingers at the misty blue light. The light danced.

Merlin sat next to him, far enough to be formal, close enough to be considered sitting next to him. He stared at Douxie. “You have two spells active now.”

Oh, that. He shrugged. “Small spells.” He twirled his fingers, the light chasing between his digits. _Don’t you dare tell me not to cast these little spells, old man._

“But…you aren’t powering them actively. I sense no…” Douxie smiled, it was rare when Merlin had to look for words.

“Think of it like a battery.”

“A battery?”

Right, sleeping for the past two centuries. “A device that stores power to be used later.” He looked down at the dancing lights. “I power the battery, not the spell.” He waved his fingers. “The spell takes what it needs from the battery after I cast it.”

“So,” Douxie winced, how could hear the disapproval in his Master’s voice. “You are not in control of this magic.” Merlin almost spat at the dancing blue lights.

Douxie sighed. The lights vanished with a wave of his hand. “I am in control of the spells. They are small, and they will not work when I stop powering their batteries. I set them to a task, and…” He leaned back, sighing. How could he explain this to his Master in terms he could understand? It was like setting a timer, you just...Ah…that’s how. “I trust it. I test it, and test it, and then I trust it. As long as I trust it, the spell is stable. As soon as I mistrust it, it loses its connection to its battery and is gone.” He had learned about adding failsafes in his magic. It took longer to cast some spells now, but knowing that they could not go rogue was worth it. It had been at least 500 years since a broom had hit him on the head.

Merlin grunted. Yes, Master. Stick that in your craw and chew it. Trust. Ever heard of it, let alone practice it? Douxie glanced over at Merlin, the older man stared at where the blue lights had been dancing. He shrugged, and went back to his observation of what he could see of the sky. The plane was long gone, the clouds dark.

He missed the times when the Milky Way arched high above his head, unobstructed by artificial lights. Those useful, useful lights that changed the world, opening up the night.

Douxie sighed. He could sense the old man’s curiosity. But his pride would prevent him from asking. At least he wasn’t mad that his “apprentice” had learned something new, something completely different from what was expected. Leave someone alone with only the basics, and they would figure something out, in their own way.

“Fascinating.” Other than the one quiet word, Merlin was quiet. Douxie glanced over, and the old wizard sat, his chin in one hand. Douxie could hear the unspoken question, but Merlin’s pride preventing him from asking. He sighed. His own pride had almost cost him his life a time or two. Swallow it, old man. He had, centuries ago.

He closed his eyes, and reached into his magic. There was some resistance, Douxie had learned long ago he couldn’t force his magic, he had to ask nicely, especially now with it still quivering with the aftereffects of the feedback. A small spark, wrapped _just so_ , a small kernel of magic. When the cocoon was stable, a small spell, dancing blue lights, motes and lines. More abstract nonsense that made for good practice and was at least fun to look at. Set it to its task, dance softly, in a space this size, react to someone’s fingers waving above it. Observe that task. Insert the cocoon in the tiny thread between his magic and the spell.

Let go and trust.

He looked over at Merlin. The old Wizard stared at the dancing lights, eyes wide. He reached out, and the magic twirled around his fingers.

Trust.

The most powerful magic of the universe. Trust the sun will rise, trust the trees will grow. Trust the tiny, delicate spell to dance in the dark of the night around the fingers of a lost Wizard.

Trust.

Trust an old Master to handle an old friend turned foe. Trust a teenager with a power that he never asked for thrust upon him. Trust a young woman to call upon a dark power and make it her own. Douxie crossed his arms over his knees and rested his head on them. These dancing lights were a bit brighter than the first set, and they illuminated this small part of the roof in a soft, flickering blue glow.

He could feel Merlin try. Flickering green lights darted erratically; the soft blue lights did not react. Douxie trusted his spell to do as it was told—it reacted to people, not other spells.

“How…how did you do that?”

The rest of the night was a rare pleasure. Merlin finally… _finally_ got a taste of what it was like while he was asleep. The night passed with stories and small, independent spells. Skills learned from Masters all over the world, from all faiths. Blue and green flickering lights filled the night.

Trust that one day an old Master would awaken. Trust that an Apprentice would watch over him.


End file.
